The Early Morning Musings of a Fool
by lieselmemingers
Summary: In the pale morning light, Remus Lupin considers his wife.


**This is a one shot, looking into Remus' thoughts at a certain stage of The Deathly Hallows. Enjoy!**

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The Early Morning Musings of a Fool

I told myself, in that moment, that every day I would wake at dawn to watch her like this.

Dora's sweet face illuminated by the slightest of summer sun as it rose outside the window. A quiet hush had settled in our room; only the whispers of our breath and the shifting a bedcovers. My eyes stung with sleep, but I wanted to watch her. The beautiful sight of her roving dark eyes under the thin covering of precious, young eyelids as she dreamt of a world where I could be good enough for her. My eyes were tired; lined with age and worries, and I could feel my skin grow older with every tick of the clock. Tick, another line, tock, another grey hair.

My wife.

A misplaced miracle, surely?

By what bizarre twist of justice was she sent to me? How could such a woman not only like me, not only love me, but fight for me for an entire year without abandoning hope? And I made her wait; I made her wait and took the colour from her.

Fool.

I was a fool.

I _am_ a fool.

It seems to be imbedded in my very soul; the tendency to destroy anything good and not even notice as it sets fire and burns to the ground. Didn't I want a good life? Sometimes, I half wonder if it would be wasted on me; a single, velvety rose amongst a sea of thorns – conspicuous, irresistible, unreachable...

Perhaps I think a little too much.

But, Merlin, she's beautiful.

Too beautiful for me.

She's a deluge of all things sweet and good and delicious. Not even touching her, I can feel the warmth from her soft body; the warmth she opened up for me, and gave to me freely. And I chose the cold. An open door with a hearth and an embrace and I turned back out into the snow, honestly believing that I was doing the right thing.

Perhaps I was. But time is too precious.

Her hand peeked out of the covers, and I took it gently in my own, the calloused skin of my fingers seeming almost too harsh for the smooth skin on the inside of her wrist, as though the tender skin would scrape off if I used my worn fingers too harshly on her. She stirred a little, her smooth brow furrowing. I could see the lines then; those worry lines that she had developed last year. My fault. I swear that she didn't have them when we first met. It was that look; her eyebrows pulled down in confusion and hurt. The look that would forever scar her face.

Bastard. What right did I have?

How could I not see that for her, I held the world? I held the power to make her happy or sad; cry or smile; weep or laugh. All that time I had thought that I would doom her to unhappiness by letting us be together, when in the end I had doomed us both by keeping us apart. How on earth could one man be so utterly, infallibly stupid?

"Remus..." her voice was scratchy with sleep, and she blinked up at me. "You're thinking."

I let laughter bubble from deep inside my belly. It warmed me on the way up. "Yes, I am."

She squinted in the light. "Don't like it when you think. S'never good."

"I'll try not to be offended at that, shall I?" I joked, tickling her sides. Her waist was warm and pliant; a smooth, beautiful tell of her youth.

She shrugged me away. "Bloody introspective git," she muttered, and closed her eyes, taken once again by sleep.

"Stay awake with me?" I asked, gently scuffing the skin of her cheekbone with my thumb.

"Hmm," she answered vaguely. "I am."

She wasn't. She was already asleep, and once again, I was left alone with my thoughts. My stupid, foolish, doubtful thoughts. Again; running through my head with a clatter as though being written on some godforsaken typewriter at the back of my skull. Unearthly thoughts...

It felt sinful to even be thinking the very things that caused her so much pain.

I'll never be good enough.

Oh, but I want to be. I want to be just what she needs. She thinks I am; but I'm not quite so convinced. Perhaps it would all have been perfect if she had only been inclined to fall in love with Bill or Charlie Weasley; wholesome young men. Free of the moon. But no, she wanted me. If only she hadn't loved me back, perhaps I would have been able to seal away my own feelings. It would have been easy; simple; an unrequited love. They happen all the time to other people. But no...we had to love _each other_.

And in doing so she would be destroyed. Eventually, she would see...just how the moon commands me. She won't want a husband that can't see her every day of the month. She won't want one that has to chain himself up and give way to a huge great bloody hulk of a beast within.

I was too grey; too old. There was nothing left of me. Whatever tattered remains may have survived, she held safely in her warm hands; he warm heart.

Would we be together forever? Old and grey, sitting on a porch somewhere in rocking chairs? Would we have children; grandchildren? What would they be like?

Like me?

Merlin, no. That was catch twenty two, wasn't it? Could we ever have children without risking passing on my condition? Would she want children? I thought, for a moment of her young body full of life; full of my baby. Of course she would. She was so hopeful for the future. Stars erupted in her eyes whatever she saw; whoever she met. Whatever came her way, even a great ruddy fool of a werewolf; she opened her arms and welcomed them in.

Oh, my wife. I ached inside for her.

I was so tired of wasting all my time.

"I'm going to have to stop you myself, aren't I?" she said suddenly, sighing. Her eyes fluttered open, black lashes shadowing against her pale skin.

I began to ask what she meant, but she cut me off with a crushing kiss. Her lips were full and sweet; moving over mine as though she liked nothing better. There was no doubt now how she intended to stop me thinking, and she wound a smooth, strong leg around my waist and rolled me over onto my back.

This had to be the best of love; her head thrown back as she moved, drawing shaky breaths from my mouth as she drew her nightshirt up and over her head, and I could see all of her, and it was too much. The morning light illuminated her pale skin; the soft curve of her breasts and the gentle sheen of sweat just along her collarbone.

How on earth had I ever denied myself this?

Perhaps I had been a stronger man than I was now. She had softened me; weakened me in a way that I wasn't sure about. Some part of me, frozen over for most of my life. I had been able to love, but not like _this_.

And, _oh_, she certainly had a talent for stopping my thought processes...

Or any processes that didn't involve her gently grinding down into my lap.

Dora. Oh, my precious wife.

We made a baby that morning.

Good god; what have I done?

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**Hopefully you enjoyed it! I quite enjoy writing Remus, but find his voice a lot more tiring to write than Tonks'. **

**Please, leave a review :D  
**


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